


Fancy Meeting You Here

by anticyclone



Category: Good Omens (Radio)
Genre: Anal Sex, Banter, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, We are both locked up together for whatever reason oh well let's shag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 07:26:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26848141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anticyclone/pseuds/anticyclone
Summary: Work leads Crowley into a prison cell, but he plans to bribe his way out and count tarnishing the guard's soul for extra credit. Aziraphale's unexpected company is just the icing on the cake.* It's not like Culloden, but it's close.*It is not also the file inside the cake, both because you can't actually use a file to break through iron bars and because Aziraphale knows Crowley is perfectly capable of freeing himself from prison, given due time.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35
Collections: Yes Fest 2020





	Fancy Meeting You Here

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KannaOphelia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KannaOphelia/gifts).



The heavy iron door of the cell swung open. Crowley contrived to raise his head defiantly even though he had just been about to drop off to sleep. It wouldn't do for his captors to think they had him on the way to defeat, regardless of the fact that his captors were human.

But the man who stepped through the iron door into the cell wasn't human at all. He was an angel.

Crowley stared at him for a moment and then began to laugh.

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. He had his hands clasped together behind his back, and he did not look pleased to see Crowley at all.

He'd let his hair grow long and had it tied back with a ribbon. It was possible that the humans thought it was a wig, but Crowley was too familiar with those curls to be fooled. Other than the unfashionable use of his own hair, however, Aziraphale was dressed quite to the mode of the day. His coat was a rich, deep blue, and there was a froth of white lace at his throat. Crowley - still laughing - glanced down and, ah, yes, Aziraphale or someone on his behalf had arranged his stockings quite nicely. There was no sawdust padding those calves.

"I don't see that you have anything to laugh about," Aziraphale scolded. "You're in shambles, Crowley."

"It's not that bad," Crowley insisted. He'd also forgone a wig - His hair was dark and short and he liked it that way. He wore red to Aziraphale's blue and a solid cravat with a black solitaire pinning it in place, but otherwise their outfits mirrored each other. There was certainly no sawdust in Crowley's stockings, either.

"I was referring to the bruise under your eye."

"You should see the other guy," Crowley said, grinning because it made Aziraphale scowl. "He's in a cell a few doors down, unless someone's already paid his fines."

Aziraphale opened his mouth, probably to say something like, 'If you expect me to pay _your_ fines, my dear boy, you are quite mistaken - I'm merely here to reprimand you, scathingly, because I have nothing better to do,' but he didn't get the chance. The hulking figure of the jail guard appeared behind him.

Crowley sighed inwardly. His original plan had been to lurk in the shadows for a couple of nights, then wheedle the guard into realizing that allowing this prisoner to walk out the door would enrich him financially, if not spiritually. It would've been a two-for-one corruption, along with the gentleman Crowley had goaded into making an unfounded gambling accusation at a club last night. But Aziraphale probably wanted to reprimand him scathingly in the privacy of the bookshop.

As it turned out, Aziraphale didn't get the chance to do that either.

The guard put a meaty hand on Aziraphale's shoulder and pushed him further into the cell. "Quit messing around," the guard snapped. The force with which he shut the iron door made all the bars rattle. "Someone'll be along to deal with you later," the guard said, turning and leaving.

For a moment Crowley simply stared at Aziraphale. Aziraphale for his part was preoccupied with his shoe buckles.

"Aziraphale," Crowley said at last.

"Hmm?" Aziraphale looked up. He had the same blank expression on his face as when Crowley interrupted him just at the end of a chapter, when Aziraphale was ready to be interrupted in his reading.

"You're not here to pay my fines and free me."

Aziraphale scowled again. "Pay your fines? Crowley, we both know that if you got yourself in here, you can get yourself out again just as well. They're only humans."

"Right." Crowley considered this.

Aziraphale made no move to sit. True, there were no chairs and the floor was the only seating available, but he didn't make a move to lean against a wall either. His shoulders were still stiff and his arms still locked at his sides, so his hands were behind… Oh. Aziraphale's hands were still behind his back, which meant he couldn't freely move his hands. Otherwise he'd be shaking a finger at Crowley by now.

A slow smile stretched over Crowley's face. "What did you do?"

"Nothing any thinking gentleman couldn't do," Aziraphale said.

Crowley began to laugh again. "I've told you," he said, settling back against the stone wall. "You can't count cards. People don't like it."

"I can hardly stop myself from being aware of what cards are in play. It's not my fault no one else pays attention."

"I guess at least you didn't get discorporated. This time."

"You don't have to be so smug. _I_ didn't earn myself a blow to the head."

Aziraphale glanced over his shoulder, through the iron gate. Across from them was just a blank wall. This prison had all the cells on the same side of the hallway. The building wasn't really large enough for anything else. They were in a nice town, but it was hardly London. Crowley had only stopped to play cards because he'd had about enough of the great black horse Hell had him tromping around the countryside on. Someone had told him the sheriff was confiscating the horse and would keep it as payment if Crowley couldn't free himself within a week. It gave Crowley a lot of joy, it did, to think of that Hellbeast in the sheriff's stables.

There were empty cells on either side of them because the guard hadn't wanted to put Crowley and the human offender close enough to bicker. Actually, now that Crowley considered that, Aziraphale would've felt Crowley in the building as soon as he'd come through the entrance. There was no reason for the guard to have put them in the same cell unless Aziraphale had ethereally nudged him to do so.

Well, well, well.

"The guard said that someone would come by later," Aziraphale said. "Do you know how long that might be?"

Crowley waggled his hand vaguely. "A few hours. They like to let people twist, here. Covers up for the fact that there's only a few of them working the place."

"Excellent."

The tinny taste of a divine miracle stung the back of Crowley's mouth. It was over in a flash, and Aziraphale's shoulders relaxed. No wonder. The miracle also sent a pair of iron cuffs dropping heavily to the floor behind Aziraphale's feet. The angel let out a relieved sigh and brought his hands out in front of him so he could rub at his wrists. White ruffled cuffs matched the lace at his throat. His shoe buckles caught bits of the low light as he crossed the cell, wrinkled his nose, and reluctantly deigned to sit on the ground at Crowley's side.

"Let me see that," Aziraphale ordered, raising a hand.

Crowley leaned his head to the side. Aziraphale's palm cupped his chin and tilted his head up. His fingers were warm against Crowley's skin. It was late summer, but the whole jail held a chill. It tasted like bitterness and regret, flat and syrupy, the way Crowley liked. But in addition to being a demon he was also a serpent. The warmth from Aziraphale's hand was easy to lean into.

"At least he didn't get you in the eye. What happened to those tinted glasses you've taken to wearing?"

"Smashed. I'll make another set when I'm out."

The healing miracle left a metallic grunge in Crowley's mouth. He had to sweep his tongue across his teeth to rid himself of it, and he made a show of cringing from the effort. The quiet ache of the bruise had vanished, though, which was all right. So was Aziraphale keeping his hand under Crowley's chin. Crowley let his eyes fall partly shut when Aziraphale kissed his face just over where the bruise had been. The kiss felt a lot better than the other guy's knuckles smashing into Crowley's cheekbone had.

"If they do take the trouble of speaking with my lodgings between now and dinnertime," Aziraphale murmured, still holding Crowley's chin in his hand, his lips still close to Crowley's skin, "I'll be out of here this evening. There's more than enough money in the safe to resolve my fine."

"Could sneak out with me," Crowley said, even though he hadn't been planning on sneaking out at all. If he could, he'd still try to get the guard to take a bribe.

"I don't need to," Aziraphale said. His fingertips briefly pressed into Crowley's skin. "Surely you could also pay your fine."

"That's no fun." Crowley shrugged in what he hoped was an insouciant fashion. (It was not.) "You could tell them you're paying my fine as well."

Aziraphale shook his head.

"Not even if I promised to be very, very grateful?" Crowley murmured in a low voice.

Aziraphale snorted. He'd started absently running his thumb across Crowley's skin, back and forth, back and forth. It took some of the sting out of, "If I ever had occasion to cause you to be grateful, you would complain about me 'playing unfair.'"

That wasn't untrue, but it also wasn't much fun.

"Then I'll just languish away in here while you go back to your comfortable rooms," Crowley said.

Aziraphale totally ignored the pouting tone. He changed track and said, "I'm on my way to London next week. I suspect you have a different destination."

"Would you rather go to Aberdeen?" Crowley asked, hopefully. He would genuinely stop pouting if it meant he didn't have to steal his stupid Hellbeast back and ride the horse all the way to Aberdeen.

"No." Aziraphale patted his cheek. "But we have a few hours in which to divert ourselves."

Crowley would take what he could get. He tilted his head so he could kiss Aziraphale's wrist, and looked up at Aziraphale though his eyelashes. "On your back?"

Aziraphale leveled a look at him. "I am not lying down on this floor."

"Could put my coat down," Crowley suggested.

"Hmm." Aziraphale's eyes swept over cell. "I don't think that would cover ground enough for the both of us."

Crowley made an annoyed little whine. He leaned up to press a kiss to Aziraphale's jaw and suggested something else. Aziraphale was more amendable to this, because it meant that only Crowley would get any more mussed than he already was. And Crowley had been in the cell for one night already. He didn't mind getting messier.

Which was how he ended up shedding his fine red coat and folding it into a cushion for Aziraphale to kneel on. Crowley himself got on his hands and knees before Aziraphale. He exhaled as Aziraphale reached under him to undo the front of Crowley's breeches and pull them down Crowley's hips, along with his small clothes, so the fabric all bunched around Crowley's knees and exposed his cock, ass, and thighs.

"This reminds me of Culloden," Aziraphale said, fondly.

"Does it?" Crowley asked. "Should I take my shirt off?"

"No." The sound of Aziraphale opening his own clothes. "You look just fine like this."

All Crowley could look at was the shadowy corner of the cell. He reached out with a drop of demonic magic to stretch and twist the shadows over them, letting the darkness settle in a protective shroud around them both. Of course it was easy enough for them to see - even if Crowley's view consisted of scenic stone and grouting - but if the guard did come back early, all he would see would be an empty cell he remembered as being empty.

Aziraphale pushed up Crowley's shirt and waistcoat a little, just enough to rest his hand against the small of Crowley's back. "There was something I didn't get around to doing in Culloden," he confided.

Crowley nearly groaned.

He had both palms flat on the ground, but shifted so he could rest his elbows on the stone and bend his head low. It made his hips tilt up. Aziraphale's hand slid down from his back to move along the curve of Crowley's ass. Crowley began breathing harder. He put his forehead against one of his fists.

Aziraphale cupped Crowley in his palm and let his fingertips dig into Crowley's skin. His hand felt just as warm as it had touching Crowley's face. He must have moved back a little to give him the room to bend over because he kissed the small of Crowley's back before bringing his other hand up. He gently spread Crowley open - Crowley may also have moved his knees apart, to facilitate this - and then he did what he hadn't been able to do in Culloden, surrounded by the metallic and squishy human noises of the battle, hardly with the time to indulge.

Aziraphale kissed him and then licked at his skin, teasing, only the edge of his tongue brushing Crowley's hole. It abruptly felt like someone had set a fire in the cell. Crowley's clothes were too tight, the damnable cravat at his throat too snug, even his stockings too close to his skin.

"Angel," Crowley panted.

Aziraphale did not bless him with a response, but did scrape his teeth against Crowley's skin. His tongue swept over Crowley again before the end of it edged inside and curled, a firm motion that would've had Crowley slumping to the floor if he hadn't already done so. Aziraphale's breath was hot on Crowley's skin and Crowley could hear him making pleased noises as he tilted his head. His chin dug into Crowley a little bit, but that was distant compared to his tongue pressing in deep and dragging slowly back, so that Crowley could feel his lips moving with the effort of fucking Crowley open.

"Thisss isss not like Culloden," Crowley said. He emphasized the hiss anticipating the effect it would have on Aziraphale and was not disappointed. The sound Aziraphale made vibrated through Crowley, made Aziraphale's tongue jerk back suddenly in a way that caused Crowley to jerk back against Aziraphale's face.

"If thisss was like Culloden," Crowley said, his voice dropped like Aziraphale enjoyed it but with the hiss slightly out of his control now, "you would've put me down so I could touch my own cock."

Aziraphale didn't stop to answer, too busy pushing his tongue back into Crowley, but he did laugh. It made his mouth move against Crowley, his tongue drive in deeper, and Crowley let out a moan. He could feel himself sweating, feel his shirt clinging to his skin, and consoled himself with thinking Aziraphale must be in the same position. His prim, proper angel, shirt damp and clinging. Crowley bit his lip and rolled his hips. Aziraphale closed his lips over Crowley's skin and sucked. His tongue was still pressed into Crowley. The noises Aziraphale was making sounded wet now, and his lips felt wet on Crowley's skin, slick with saliva.

Crowley was incredibly, miserably hard. He was so hard it hurt. There was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

This was not at all like Culloden, when Aziraphale had put him down on his back, settled satisfyingly between Crowley's knees, and watched Crowley jerk himself off while Aziraphale fucked him. In this position Crowley couldn't touch himself, or coax Aziraphale into touch him. Couldn't even rut against Aziraphale's stomach like he had in Glasgow a few months later, settled on the edge of Aziraphale's desk with his kilt shoved up around his hips.

All Crowley could do was rock back against Aziraphale's tongue and try not to plead.

"You're going to make it hard not to get arrested every time I know you've come into town," Crowley said, instead of, _please don't stop._ Panting and whining was the easy way out. He wasn't about to beg, but he knew Aziraphale liked to hear him talk. "If I'd known iron bars got you this excited, Aziraphale, I would never have helped you out that time in Sumeria. Had to wriggle in through that window and you didn't even catch me."

The fact that falling five feet meant nothing to a snake went unremarked upon. Probably because Aziraphale's tongue was otherwise occupied.

"Wasss that for counting cards, too? Had they invented cards at that point?" Crowley asked. It was genuinely difficult to remember. He still had his forehead pressed into his fist, but his other hand kept clawing at the stone like he expected to actually find a handhold. "Doesssn't matter. You were happy to see me, even if you didn't - ah - Even if you didn't catch me. Do you remember…"

The way Aziraphale slid the edge of his tongue along Crowley's hole before sucking at his skin again suggested he did remember the incident. Crowley would have come up with a great second half of that sentence, too, if Aziraphale hadn't followed that up with pulling on Crowley's hips and driving his tongue in as deep as he could.

Crowley made a broken noise. But he didn't plead.

He came messily, spilling onto the stone and staining the stomach of his waistcoat with his come. Aziraphale dragged his tongue flat against Crowley's hole until Crowley's legs were trembling with the effort of holding himself up. He could feel the damp spots on his clothing and when he looked down he could see splashes of come on the floor.

Aziraphale let up right when Crowley was sure he was about to fall to the floor. He sat up, drew in a contented breath, and flicked a light miracle over the both of them that Crowley could barely taste past the smell of himself in the air.

"You didn't have to do that," Crowley murmured. The damp spots on his clothing were gone.

"I'm not ruining your outfit," Aziraphale said.

"I like when you ruin my outfits," Crowley assured him.

"I'm certain," Aziraphale said. He put a hand on Crowley's back and another on Crowley's hip, and without much preamble thrust his cock into Crowley's ass.

Aziraphale kept his hand flat on Crowley's back, which was nice, as was the rather merciless way he went about fucking Crowley. The hard thrusts didn't help the tremble in Crowley's legs any. If they'd been in a bed, he would've sunk down into the mattress and made Aziraphale keep fucking him like that, so every forward thrust would press Crowley's stomach into the blankets.

Thinking about it maybe made him relax a little too much, because Aziraphale had to let go of his hip to slide an arm underneath Crowley's stomach. "This is the trouble with letting you come first," Aziraphale tutted.

Crowley laughed. He twisted his head to glance over his shoulder and wink at Aziraphale. "Happy to let you keep at this as long as you want."

Aziraphale drew his lower lip in between his teeth. Crowley wished he was in a position to kiss him.

At least Crowley could move his hips back to grind against Aziraphale. It drove Aziraphale into him at a great angle, and encouraged Aziraphale to hold still before drawing out again. Crowley was never going to complain about having Aziraphale's cock in him. Complaints about Crowley going pliant or no, Aziraphale fucked him like it was a holy mission, one that Crowley was determined to enjoy every last minute of.

"You know," Aziraphale said, nearly pulling free of Crowley before pushing back in again, "you _are_ the one who taught me how to play cards in the first place."

"Are you trying to say I'm the reason you count cards?"

"I'm saying you didn't discourage me."

Crowley went limp enough that Aziraphale's next thrust snapped against his ass and shuddered through the rest of his body. He also moaned, only partly for show. "Aziraphale, I hate discouraging you."

"You are also very bad at it," Aziraphale breathed out. His voice had gotten shaky.

Crowley moaned again, only mostly for show.

In Culloden Aziraphale had pulled away and come all over Crowley's stomach and chest. It had been nice. Now, Aziraphale rocked in close and leaned down to kiss Crowley's back. Crowley pushed up, so his back was pressed against Aziraphale as Aziraphale came inside him. That was nice too.

So was Aziraphale lying heavily on top of Crowley while he caught his breath, occasionally kissing his shoulders. 

Eventually, though, the stone floor made itself known, and they both got up. Clothes needed rearranging. For some reason Aziraphale found itself necessary to latch onto Crowley's face and fuss with his hair until it was - as far as Crowley could feel - exactly the same as it'd been a minute ago. He also insisted on redoing Crowley's cravat by hand.

"Do you have a residence waiting for you in London?" Aziraphale asked, once he'd pinned the black solitaire back in place.

"No."

"Well. When you return to town, let yourself in."

Aziraphale held up a brass key. He passed it to Crowley, his gaze serious. The key felt small and cold in Crowley's fingers. Crowley stared at it. He didn't need a key to let himself into Aziraphale's place - In fact, he couldn't remember a single time he'd ever used one, instead of just suggesting to the door that it wanted to be open. A key was more than an invitation. A key was permission.

Crowley met Aziraphale's eyes.

"And," Aziraphale said, "please do not track mud over my carpets."

Crowley made a face. He tucked the key into a pocket in his waistcoat and grumbled, "Wouldn't."

"London is hardly a clean city," Aziraphale pointed out.

He leaned over to press a kiss to Crowley's mouth. Crowley allowed himself to be mollified. He also allowed himself to be sat down on the floor with Aziraphale next to him.

"Still have to find my own place," Crowley said, when the kiss was over (it took a while). Aziraphale had tucked himself up against Crowley's side, and the bulk of his body was comforting and warm. "It would do terrible things to my reputation, living on your generosity."

"My generosity does not extend as far as letting you run all your demonic operations out of my house," Aziraphale said, raising an eyebrow. "But if you're going to have to spend time searching for a home, you may as well…" He paused, considering, and finished, "Take advantage of mine."

Crowley grinned. "Taking advantage is fun."

"More fun than coming in through a window," Aziraphale said. He put his head on Crowley's shoulder. "Really, how was I supposed to catch you? You were nine feet long and limbless."

Crowley made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. 

Aziraphale sighed. "Use the key, my dear," he said, gently. "I would like to spend some time with you on purpose for once, and not because we ran into each other in battle or got locked up in the same jail. The Arrangement doesn't count. Our head offices have enough reports from the both of us, and I don't want to work. I want to sit down in a chair and have dinner."

"All right, all right," Crowley murmured. "Key, no mud, dinner. With chairs."

He twisted a bit of magic around the key. It would know better than to get lost before he could make it to London, and Aziraphale.


End file.
